Right now I’m in the middle of a fresh, messy situation.
It’s that moment of cake baking, where all the ingredients, wet and dry, are meeting in the big bowl. You move your wooden spoon clockwise, folding the flour, salt, baking soda in with the solution of eggs, butter, sugar.
When you get to this step, the best recipes will say: “stir until just blended”. You don’t want to over mix. This might activate the baking soda too early or over cream the already creamy butter. The future of texture and density depends on this moment.
You divide the batter into parchment lined pans, praying that it’s an even split. Slide them into the oven, set a timer and walk away.
So much happens within that stainless steel womb. Hot hot heat activates some sort of magic, transforming the wet mass into a buoyant, fluffy cake supreme. Oh how the gods smiled upon us, when they sent cake into our lives. What I love about cake, even more than its divine lightness of crumb, is the simple reminder that we can only do so much.
We are to measure out the ingredients and follow the order of operations. Skipping a step isn’t an option. We can infuse the cake with all the care in the world, but it must always go in the oven. It is there in a state of solitude, without the meddling of hands, that the cake becomes a thing of wonder.
Until now, I hadn’t really considered the idea that cake is very much in charge of its own destiny.
It knows how to come together and no, it doesn't need us interfering in the process of fate. This recent realization has brought me a lot of comfort. I’ve felt a bit raw the past couple days, still dealing with my Dad's drawn out health issues. If you saw me crying in my car this week at the intersection of Sunset and Silverlake, no you didn’t.
I’ve gotten caught in a web of processing. Attempts to get this time right, parsing the past from present, defining what’s happening, right now, in the moment. I hoped to get ahead of the story, but it’s futile. I simply do not have all the pieces. What I thought would be a helpful exercise has left me feeling more at sea than before. This impulse to preemptively process makes sense. The truth is I’m fighting a tide that I worry could leave me hopelessly treading water. It’s happened so many times before. But fighting forces greater than me can only lead to exhaustion. I fell asleep at my computer this afternoon (for me, napping is unheard of). My body chose to shut down rather than try again to deny Time.
Yes it’s Time that I have challenged and she has laughed in my face. Time knows that I need it, but I’ve tried to wave my hand and ask for a smaller portion. No no, I just need a little helping to figure all of this out, I say. The earth couldn’t crack open fast enough, I’d sooner let myself be swallowed than go through another round of deferral. But Time laughs again, scooping out a big chunk of its juicy center and leaving it on my plate.
Looks like I’ll be eating for days.
But first I’ll take my unbridled anxieties, my wavering future visions and mix them all together. I’ll add a dash of hope, two splashes of history and a lot of butter. I’ll throw in some love, even though right now it’s sticky and thick like honey. I’ll take my wooden spoon and stir just until blended.
If someone asks what’s in the oven, I might just have to shake my head.
It’s a mystery!
I’m cooking up another unknown and right now she is rising.
xx
James